Something in the Water

FOUR

Bob Strong went to see Iuean Davies first thing in the morning. The practice manager was sitting in his office with his feet up on the desk, aiming balls of screwed-up paper at the waste basket.

‘What’s up?’ he asked as Bob opened the door without knocking and strode in. ‘Can’t find your manners?’

‘Sorry. Problem.’

‘You look bloody terrible. Lay off the booze.’

‘No, it’s not that. I had a rough night — didn’t get much sleep.’

‘Don’t tell me: you’ve fallen madly in love with Letty Bird, and you can’t bear to tell her yourself. You’ve lain awake all night thinking about her. You’re bursting with this mad, dark and dangerous passion and you want me to tell her for you. Am I right?’

Bob closed the door carefully behind him and leant against it, arms folded. ‘I had Saskia Harden in my surgery yesterday morning.’

Iuean swung his feet off the table, eyes wide. ‘My God, free tickets to see Wales v England and then you get to have Saskia Harden in your bloody surgery too. You really do get all the luck.’

‘I mean she came to see me.’ Bob wasn’t in the mood for schoolboy jokes, although he did manage a faint smile after a moment’s consideration. ‘Actually, I could have had her. But I didn’t.’

‘Ah, professional detachment,’ Iuean murmured. ‘Only to be admired — but never practised. At least, that’s my motto. So — what did the Angel of Death want this time? Hurled herself off any tall buildings recently? Thrown herself under a bus?’

Bob shrugged. ‘I think her suicidal days are behind her — if they were ever there in the first place. I still have my doubts.’

Iuean scoffed. ‘Oh, come on! The police fished her out of Rhydwaedlyd Brook. Face down. She’s lucky to be alive. The paramedic actually pronounced her dead, if you remember the report. Frightened the life out of everyone when she sat up cool as a cucumber in A amp;E.’

‘She frightens the life out of me, to be honest.’

‘Rubbish. She’s a bit odd, that’s all.’ Iuean reconsidered for a moment. ‘OK, she’s got issues, shall we say. But, in the end, she’s just a woman, and they all have issues. She’s good looking. Available. What are you waiting for?’

‘I don’t actually know. But something’s not right. She says she’s never tried to commit suicide, not even once.’

‘The evidence would indicate otherwise.’

‘I’m not convinced. There’s more to her than meets the eye.’

Iuean let out one of his big laughs. ‘Bob Strong, the eternal romantic! You know what your trouble is, don’t you? Besides being English?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s a medical term for it, actually. It’s called Hugh Grantism. You spend so long faffing around trying to do the correct thing that the chance to do anything at all just slips you by.’

‘I think she needs help,’ Bob said. ‘It’s just I’m not sure what with.’

‘You are now officially wasting the practice manager’s time. You are the weakest link, goodbye.’

Bob coughed, fishing for his handkerchief. ‘Oh no,’ he said miserably. ‘That’s all I need. Reckon I’ve caught a cold. Felt it coming on yesterday.’

‘Well no bloody wonder!’ Iuean leant back from his desk, balancing his chair on two legs and putting his hands behind his head. ‘Something’s definitely going around. I’ve had six chest infections and four cases of flu since Monday. And that’s not including all the usual bloody sore throats and sniffles.’

Bob could feel that tickle building in his own throat and quickly cleared it. The cough stung.

‘So what’s the matter?’ Iuean asked. ‘Come on, I need to write up some notes and make a cost breakdown for the new practice nurse. I haven’t got all day to waste on you coughing your guts up in my office and mooning over that bloody woman.’

‘I’m not mooning over her!’

‘You fancy her, don’t you?’

‘Well I’m not sure. I think I do, yes.’ Bob looked up apologetically. ‘Is that right? Should I? She’s a patient, after all.’

‘Hardly. So she’s registered with you and she’s been to see you a few times. So what? She’s single, isn’t she? No bloody relatives or next of kin as far as I remember from her notes. Bloody well up for it as well, from what you’ve told me. Go for it!’ Iuean sat forward, suddenly serious. ‘Maybe a personal relationship, rather than a professional one, is just what she needs. Have you thought of that? I can tell by your vacant expression that you have not. Well, do think about it. Some problems can’t necessarily be solved in the consulting room. Go on, see her, ask her out. Talk to her as Bob Strong, not Dr Strong. Or do you think the ex-Mrs Strong wouldn’t approve?’

‘It’s not that. She’s just a bit … well, as you said. Odd.’

‘She’s a woman! What do you expect? Normality?’ Iuean tutted impatiently. ‘You’re setting your standards too bloody high, boyo, that’s your trouble. Get in there while she’s still interested, you fool.’

‘Yeah. Maybe you’re right.’

‘I always am. I have two perfect marriages and two perfect divorces behind me to prove it.’

‘Thanks.’ Bob coughed again and searched for his hanky, only to find his trouser pockets empty. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. His throat was sore now and he decided to take some aspirin himself. He gave Iuean a small salute and headed back to his own surgery.

On the way past the reception desk, he stopped and spoke to Letty Bird. ‘Did Saskia Harden make an appointment for next week?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘I did tell her to stop at the desk on her way out and make one.’

‘Well, she didn’t.’ Letty tapped at some keys on her computer and swivelled the screen so that Bob could see. ‘There. Blank. At least, as far as Ms Harden is concerned. All you’ve got for this time next week — so far — is Mrs Finnigan’s bunions and the check-up on Mr Grundy. The scans should be back from the hospital by then, and you can tell him the good news. Or the bad news, depending on what the results are.’

‘I can hardly wait.’ Bob thought for a moment and then said, ‘Do we have Ms Harden’s phone number on file?’

Letty raised her severely plucked eyebrows.

‘I need to check something with her.’ He knew just the kind of sucked-lemon look a request like this would provoke, but he was determined to follow this through now.

Tight-lipped, Letty worked the keyboard and then frowned. ‘No. We don’t have any contact telephone number for her. Does she even have a phone?’

Bob shrugged. ‘Apparently not.’

‘Doesn’t have an address either by the looks of it. At least not one that makes sense. I know the Marshfield area. There’s no such place as this.’ She tapped the screen.

‘OK.’ Bob thanked her for nothing and turned towards his surgery, rubbing his chest painfully as he coughed again.

‘You should see a doctor!’ Letty called after him.